


Hotshots

by Blue Falcon Art (scififan27)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Aerial Combat Maneuvers, Age Difference, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fighter Pilots, Flying, Fraternization, Frottage, M/M, Massage, Military, Military Uniforms, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scififan27/pseuds/Blue%20Falcon%20Art
Summary: It’s been many years since Antilles has flown anything more than a desk, but a cocky young hotshot draws out his competitive side, with unexpected results.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Episode 6 and Episode 7. A blend of Legends and Canon. Wraith Squadron happened, then the First Order happened.
> 
> I wrote the fighter combat scene in this a week before I saw The Last Jedi. I can't tell you how excited I was that one of the maneuvers I selected was actually performed by Poe in the movie. So gratifying to know he'd use that maneuver, and to see the effects of that maneuver on him!

Janson glanced at Poe, then at Wedge. Two very competitive, and opinionated, egos at one table made for an interesting evening’s diversion. Whatever it was that Poe was about to say, he wondered whether he should protect the kid from a terrible mistake, or let him learn from it.

“I respect that you’re the only pilot to survive two Death Star missions, and you led the Rogues, but I think you’re wrong,” Dameron continued, “don’t get me wrong, the T-65B is a beautiful fighter, but I don’t think it can keep up with T-70s. The T-70s are definitely superior to your T-65B. The maneuvering capabilities alone are light years ahead of the T-65B.”

Janson leaned back in his seat, and took another draft of his bottle of Lum. Wedge wouldn’t do anything that would harm Poe, and it’d do the kid good to learn this lesson the hard way.

Wedge smirked, and put his bottle of Lomin Ale down on the table. “If it’s as capable as you say it is, Dameron, surely you’d be able to beat an old man in an old ship?”

Janson had to try very hard to keep a straight face. This was entirely too familiar an exchange.

At this Dameron’s smile took a competitive edge. “If I win, you convince command to give my squadron a week’s liberty?”

“Two days,” Wedge said.

“Four.”

“Three.”

Wedge nodded, “Done. And if you lose?”

It was a well-known fact that General Antilles hated doing paperwork. “I’ll do your paperwork for three days?”

“Deal.”

Wedge answered so quickly that it drew a chuckle from another of the officers sharing their table.

Janson smirked. “Sorry Wedge, we don’t have any ore haulers available. You’re going to need the techs to dial down the cannons on your snubfighters.”

 

Dameron glanced back over his shoulder, and caught a glimpse of Antilles’ fighter in the narrow slot of a window behind the cockpit. “Alright BB-8, hold on tight!” He cut thrust to the engines, waited a fraction of a second, then pulled up.

BB-8 wailed urgently, and there was a jolt from the rear as something hit the rear deflector shields.

Wedge’s fighter didn’t emerge in front of him.

“The L’ulo Stand…” Wedge’s voice crackled to life over the comms unit, “You're good, Dameron, very good. What you're lacking is experience.”

A smattering of laser fire passed over the viewport from above. BB-8 warbled.

“I see him, I see him!” Poe shouted back.

Dameron pulled the fighter’s nose up toward the incoming fire, switched shields to full forward. He rerouted energy from the engines to the blaster cannons, and flew towards Wedge’s fighter. He was about 300 meters away, and closing fast. Behind Wedge's fighter, Janson's fighter hung still in space, its s-foils closed.

Dameron snapped a quick shot off at Wedge’s fighter to see if he’d flinch. No such luck. Antilles approached him at high speed in a lazy corkscrew. The Wotan Weave made it harder to hit Antilles’ fighter, and allowed him to continue along his head-on approach.

The two fighters flashed past each other. It was safer in a one-on-one dogfight to go head-to-head than to let your opponent get on your six, and the two pilots scrambled to turn back to face each other. Here, the superior maneuverability of the T-85 gave Dameron the advantage, and he managed to drop onto Antilles’ six.

He peppered Antilles’ rear shields with blaster bolts.

The T-65 pulled off to starboard. Overshooting Antilles’ fighter, Dameron leveled out his fighter, and pulled up hard. If this maneuver worked, he’d end up on Antilles’ six again, but it was a gamble. The T-65 would be in his blind spot for most of the Tallon Roll.

Sure enough, at the end of his maneuver, Antilles’ fighter came into view a little below Dameron’s nose. He snapped off a shot.

The T65 dove to port. The shot passed through where Antilles’ fighter should have been.

Dameron followed Wedge’s ship down and to his left.

Suddenly, Wedge’s fighter pulled up out of the dive and rolled to starboard.

Dameron shot past, then rerouted all thrust to his portside lateral thrusters. The gee-forces of the maneuver were extreme, and the inertial compensators strained to keep them within tolerable limits. Even clenching to keep the blood at his core, Dameron’s vision redded out for a moment. But it worked, his fighter spun to point straight at the T-65B.

A single shot came Poe’s way. Poe jinked to avoid it. Another barrage of shots splashed over his forward shields, so that all he could see was laser blasts. Poe reversed his direction.

A quad-linked bolt came straight at his forward viewport. His forward shields were down. The transparisteel canopy polarised to pure black, then cleared.

“That's a kill.” Janson tutted, “cold, Wedge.”

Dameron slammed his hands down on the console, equal parts frustration and amazement. “Nice shot! Where did you learn how to do that?”

“From an old friend.”

Dameron swore he could hear the smile on the General’s face. Whoever this old friend was, he had to be a hell of a good pilot. “You didn’t teach that in flight school. Teach me.”

Janson's voice crackled over the comm. "I'm heading down to ground. There's a game of sabacc I'm missing."

Janson's fighter waggled its wings, then descended toward the planet, leaving Wedge and Poe to their impromptu training flight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the hot bedroom action, folks!

When they landed, Poe logged a refuelling order, and an urgent maintenance request to restore the cannons to proper power, then shut down the fighter’s systems. He was the first one out of his fighter, walking along the step plates on the nose, and lowering himself down. He ruffled his hair to help the sweat evaporate away while he waited for Wedge.

BB-8 dropped down beside Poe’s X-wing, then trilled.

“Yeah, go ahead, buddy, have fun.”

BB-8 rolled off in the direction of a cluster of droids beeping and warbling amongst themselves in the corner of the hangar.

He watched the General get out of his X-wing, more than a little surprised at how fit and healthy he was. A couple of hours in combat flight weren't exactly easy to do, even for a younger man, but closer to 50 than he was to 40, Antilles had taken good care of himself. Lighter built than himself, Antilles moved with the easy confidence of an experienced ground combatant.

Wedge walked over and slapped Poe's shoulder. “I think that's enough for tonight. You've got the basic idea. The rest is just practice.”

Poe licked his parched lips. “I don't know about you, but I could kill for a drink?”

Wedge glanced at his chrono. “The mess closed an hour ago. I've got a bottle of Whyren's Reserve in my quarters though.”

He should say no, he had a lot to get done tomorrow, but he was enjoying Wedge’s company, and they were off duty. “If you're offering.”

 

Wedge’s quarters were disgustingly spacious, but felt colder and less lived-in than his own, which were cluttered with pictures of friends and family, and the odd little keepsakes he'd picked up during his career.

Only a handful of squadron pictures, most of which featured Janson, Klivian, or both, a sector map of Corellia, a small model of an X-wing, and a plush ewok were on display in Wedge’s quarters. He got the impression Antilles wasn't particularly sentimental, beyond the common Corellian sentimentality for his home system.

Besides being larger, and less cluttered, it was every bit as ramshackle as his own, filled with mismatched and repurposed furniture.

Antilles opened the window in the back wall of his quarters, then pulled off his flight box and vest, dropping it on his bed, and unzipped his flight suit and tied the arms around his waist.

Poe raked his eyes over Wedge’s body, lingering where the sweat-damp fabric clung to the muscles of his back and shoulders.

Wedge turned and smiled. “You don’t have to stay out there in the hallway. Come in, make yourself comfortable.”

Poe stepped inside, and pulled his own flight vest off, putting it down carefully beside the door, before taking a seat on the rather ragged looking couch.

Wedge pulled a repurposed food transport box from under his bunk, and fished out a bottle of Whyren’s Reserve and two glasses. He shoved the box back under his bunk with his foot, and joined Poe on the couch.

He set the glasses down, and poured out a bit more than two fingers of Whyren’s into each. Poe’s guess was both were closer to three or four fingers, but he wasn’t complaining.

Poe took one of the glasses, the one with the unrecognizable squadron crest on it, and took a sip. Crisp and woody, it burned on the way down. “Huh, you weren’t kidding about it being Whyren’s Reserve, were you?”

Wedge’s face twisted into a grimace. “Life’s too short for bootlegged Whyren’s Reserve.”

Poe tilted his head, and raised his brows, then nodded, before raising his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

Wedge raised his own glass, then took a sip.

“Million credit question, Antilles, how did you counter my L’ulo Stand?”

Wedge put his own glass down. “I thought you were going for a Silerian Stall, I was prepared for a simple overshoot.”

Wedge raised his hands, held out flat, one in front of the other, speaking with his hands. “So when you stopped, I did a power pivot-” Wedge’s tilted his right hand back to show his palm upward, “then an Eimalgan Turn.”

“With that sort of momentum…” Poe’s brows furrowed. “That’s why there was a jolt from the rear. You bounced off my shields.”

“I did. I didn’t expect you to be there. It’s a good thing your shields held.”

“No kidding.”

“How high are your inertial compensators dialled to pull off a maneuver like that?”

“Point 95, I never dial them higher than that. I need to feel what my fighter’s doing.”

Wedge leaned over and topped up Poe's glass. The move brought him well within Poe’s personal space, almost into private space. This close, Poe could see the flecks of grey streaking through Wedge’s dark brown hair like shooting stars. Antilles’ lips looked so wonderfully kissable.

On impulse, Dameron grabbed Wedge’s arm, and dragged him close, crushed his lips against Wedge’s. He tasted like whiskey, and that unique tang of hot electronics and fighter fuel that only fighter pilots found attractive.

Wedge stiffened, and placed a hand on Poe’s chest to push him back. “Dameron-”

Poe looked into Antilles’ hazel eyes. Passion and fire burned in them, but his brows were furrowed. “Sorry… I overstepped.”

“I'm flattered, but…”

“You outrank me, and you're concerned about the repercussions?”

“Exactly.”

“Strictly speaking, Antilles, you're not in my chain of command.”

Wedge nodded. “True, but I'm also old enough to be your father. Hell, I knew your mother.”

“Age is just a number with two consenting adults.”

Wedge set the bottle of Whyren’s down on the table, and gave Poe a scorching kiss that was as much teeth as lips and tongues.

Wedge cradled the back of Poe’s head in his hand, twisting his fingers into Poe’s thick, dark, hair, then stroked his hand down underneath the collar of Poe’s flight suit to his shoulder, and gave it a squeeze.

“Antilles,” Dameron said between kisses, voice husky and a little shaky, “if you're still having second thoughts, now’s the time to say it.”

Wedge slid his hand lower down, and slipped his fingertips under the hem of Dameron’s shirt. He ran his hand up Dameron's side, hot against his skin. “No, this is good.”

Dameron nipped Wedge’s lip, and ran his hand up Wedge’s thigh to give the his junk a gentle squeeze.

Wedge’s hazel eyes glittered like corusca gems. He kissed along Poe's jaw, then down his neck. He grazed his teeth on the bare skin at Poe's collar.

Poe leaned back, and shucked the upper half of his flight suit off his shoulders, then stripped his shirt off, slowly.

Wedge made an appreciative hum, and kissed Poe’s ribs, then latched onto one of Poe’s nipples, licking and nipping there before continuing up to his lips. Wedge’s hands wandered over Dameron’s back, kneading the muscles.

Poe moaned into the kiss when Wedge’s hands kneaded a particularly stiff spot in his back.

Wedge continued working his hands into those stiff muscles until they loosened up, drawing all manner of embarrassing whimpers and moans out of Poe, then moved his hands lower down.

Poe grabbed the hem of Wedge’s shirt, and pulled it off over his head. Underneath his clothes, he was a lean, mean fighting machine, and Poe took a moment to admire his chest and abs before leaning back and pulling Wedge on top of him. Poe slipped one leg between Wedge’s, rubbed his thigh between Wedge’s thighs.

Wedge growled, and rolled his hips before biting at Poe’s throat. Skin to skin, the two pilots rutted against each other, excitement growing.

Wedge slipped his tongue between Poe’s lips, then retreated. Poe brushed his lips against Wedge’s with a smile, and ground his hips up against Wedge’s.

A moan rumbled in Wedge’s chest, and Poe splayed his hand on the small of Wedge’s back, trailed his hand down to squeeze his ass before kissing him again, tongue swirling lazily against Wedge’s.

Dameron wrapped one leg around Wedge’s waist to urge him to press harder, faster, his fingertips bruising the skin of Wedge’s biceps.

Before long, both of them were panting and shuddering. Wedge unwrapped Poe’s leg from around his waist, and shuffled back to pull Poe’s flight suit and underwear down to his thighs, then licked a stripe up the underside of Poe’s cock.

Poe’s breath hitched, and he shot his hand down to the top of Wedge’s head.

Wedge kissed his way down the shaft, and nuzzled Poe’s balls before sliding onto the floor between the coffee table and the couch. He grabbed Dameron’s hips, and pulled him to the edge of the couch, then took Poe’s cock into his mouth.

Poe rolled his head back, eyes closed, jaw slack, and stroked the top of Wedge’s head. Engulfed in wet heat, he was content to let Wedge do as he pleased.

Wedge sucked and licked slow and leisurely. A familiar warmth grew slowly at the base of Dameron’s spine, and his breaths came in soft sighs and moans. Dameron rolled his hips, fucking into Wedge’s mouth.

Suddenly Wedge released Poe’s dick from his mouth with a wet pop, and that wet heat was replaced with the slow pumping of Wedge’s hand. “We should probably take this to the bed, I don't think the couch will survive this.”

Poe opened his eyes to look at Wedge. His lips were flushed and wet, his hazel eyes nearly black with desire. “Sure, buddy.”

The two of them stood, and shared a quick, sloppy kiss, then kicked off their boots and dropped their flight suits to the floor. Wedge’s cock strained against the fabric of his underwear, and a small wet spot stained the fabric of his boxers.

Poe took in the sight of the incredibly disheveled general, almost fucking him with his eyes, and reached out to tug Wedge’s underwear off. He let them pool around the general’s feet. He looked down at Wedge’s durasteel-hard cock, and wrapped his hand around the general’s dick. He stroked gently, and locked his lips on Wedge’s collarbone.

Wedge’s knees almost buckled, and he put a hand on Dameron’s hip to steady himself.

Dameron covered Wedge’s lips with his, crushing their lips together. He led Wedge toward the bed by his dick. When the back of his legs hit the bed, Dameron stopped.

Wedge took a breath, reached over to dump his flight vest on the floor beside the bed. He opened the top drawer of the bedside table, and fished out a condom and some lube, “Still okay with this, Dameron?”

Poe nodded, “Yeah, and I think we’re past surnames at this point, Wedge.”

Wedge pushed Poe down onto the bed, “Have you done this before?”

“Yeah.” Poe leaned forward, and kissed the tip of Wedge’s dick, causing him to shudder. He did it again, then took Wedge’s dick between his lips, and sucked softly as he bobbed his head, taking more of Wedge’s length into his mouth.

“Oh Force!” Wedge’s hand shot to the back of Poe’s head.

Poe pulled back. “How do you want me?”

It took a moment for Wedge to gather his thoughts. He pressed Poe down onto the bed, and lifted Poe’s legs. “Right there.”

Poe grabbed hold of the back of his thighs so he wouldn’t tire so quickly, and waited.

With a pop, Wedge opened the bottle of lube, and squeezed some out onto his fingertips, then rubbed his slicked fingertips over Poe’s hole.

Poe shivered, the lube leaving a cold trail behind.

Wedge pressed a little more insistently on Poe’s hole with his fingertips, then swirled them around it again.

The next time Wedge pressed on Poe’s hole, he kept pushing, sliding one finger inside.

Poe’s breath hitched, and he clenched a little at the intrusion. He took a breath, and willed himself to relax.

Wedge waited, then crooked his finger to drag it along Poe’s insides. Poe hissed, the stretching of his walls causing a pleasant burn inside. Wedge continued this for a while, pressing upwards, then downwards, teasing Poe wider with his finger, before sliding another one inside. Now he scissored his fingers inside, coaxing Poe’s hole open bit by bit.

Then Wedge stopped, and pressed upward.

A low hum of pleasure washed over Poe, who all but melted into the bed, “oh kriff, yeah, right there.”

Wedge stroked his fingers in gentle circles on Poe's prostate, until Poe was a whimpering mess. “Antilles, kriff… Wedge, please, I want…”

Wedge slid his fingers out, and rolled the condom down his dick. He poured more lube into his hand, and rubbed it over his cock, pressed the head of his cock against Poe’s hole, then paused.

Poe whined, and glared up at Wedge through strands of hair plastered to his forehead by sweat.

Wedge grabbed Poe by his thighs, and pushed in slowly.

Poe arched his back, and made a strangled noise, pain and pleasure merging into one as Wedge filled him.

Wedge trembled with the effort of staying still.

Poe finally relaxed, and only then did Wedge start to move. Though Wedge took him slow and gentle, it was uncomfortable at first, Wedge’s dick a little too thick for what little preparation they’d done. Poe jerked off, concentrating on that, and slowly, it started to feel good enough that Poe was rocking his hips against Wedge.

Wedge pulled out, and rolled Poe over, pulling him to a kneeling position, then pushed back in, sinking his teeth into the top of Poe's shoulder.

Now, Wedge picked up the pace. He kriffed like he flew; fast, hard, confident, and Poe arched back against him, the back of his head resting on Wedge's shoulder.

Poe moaned as Wedge nipped at his shoulder, his neck, his jaw. Poe turned his head to kiss Wedge, hot and slick and sloppy as their tongues battled together.

Wedge’s hands stroked over Poe’s chest and stomach, never lingering for long.

In this position, the curve of Wedge’s dick had his shaft rubbing against Poe’s p-spot. Poe reached down and fisted his dick, felt that buildup of pressure and heat that started at the base of his spine, and pooled in his groin, little sparks of euphoria flickering through his body.

Wedge’s rhythm changed, and he grabbed at Poe’s hips leaving scratches that burned on Poe’s skin. His hips stuttered, dick twitching inside Poe as he came.

With just two more pumps from his fist, Dameron’s body jerked, and came with a roar. White noise hissed in his ears, and static tingled through his body as cum splattered against his belly.

Wedge wrapped his arms around Poe’s torso, chest heaving, and panted into the nape of Poe’s neck while they rode through the aftershocks.

Poe hissed, over-sensitized, when Wedge pulled out.

Hot and sweaty, they collapsed into Wedge’s bunk together in a tangle of limbs, limp and boneless.

“Kriff,” Poe said, breathlessly, “that was awesome.”

Wedge nodded, eyes closed, a content, sleepy smile on his face. “Mhmm.”


End file.
